For We Are the Beautiful Thieves
by devilberry
Summary: A series of drabbles starring Bakura and Malik as they commit an array of various crimes
1. Arson

**Author's Note: **Series of drabbles that I may or may not frequently update. Written simply because I enjoy writing them. Each one will be based off of a different crime, and if you have any ideas feel free to share them. It is very possible that the rating will increase. Who knows? Title blantantly stolen from the AFI song Beautiful Thieves. Go listen and enjoy.**  
Rating: **T.**  
Pairing(s): **Bakura/Malik (thiefshipping), and others if I decide that I feel like.**  
Warnings: **Cursing, smoking, drugs, probable sex, law breaking, and many more.

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**arson___  
The crime of maliciously, voluntarily, and willfully setting fire to the building, buildings, or other property of another or of burning one's own property for an improper purpose, as to collect insurance._**

The sky was raining reds and oranges and yellows and crimsons and a rainbow of other soft, warm colors. The gentleness of the bright colors coupled with the radiating heat provided a strangely calming effect for the tan boy who was sitting leisurely on his motorcycle. Said vehicle was currently parked nearby to a local church. Said religious establishment was currently engulfed in flames.

The Spirit of the Ring was never very fond of any sort of God, and he _was _horrendously fond of going out of his way to cause problems; so, naturally, when Malik had suggested that the two go out and _do_ something, criminal intent was fresh on the Spirit's mind.

And really, the church was just so bloody _quaint_. It was crying out for some gasoline and a match.

And Bakura, being the gentleman that he is, could never simply ignore such cries.

"We should probably go," The blonde told his partner-in-crime flatly as the ashen-haired, ash-covered thief emerged from the area of the flaming building. Smoke clung to his pale form and fog held on tightly to his demonic aura. The clouds of blackness surrounding the Spirit did nothing if not amplify his ghostly air. The smog stuck to him like dirty, little, lost souls. Malik frowned slightly at these thoughts, but did nothing else. "The police are going to show up soon enough."

"Hn. I suppose you're right," The wraithlike being snarled in his ever-so-harsh British accent. He gracefully made his way towards the tan boy and situated himself on the blonde's vehicle. "Let's get out of here."

Malik nodded, hooking his leg over the other side of his motorcycle, so as to straddle it, and ignited the machine. It let out a roar as its owner let out a sigh. "Honestly, Spirit," He glowered. "Can't we ever do anything that doesn't require running from authorities?"

Bakura said nothing. He simply smirked and hooked his pale arms around his partner's waist as the pair swiftly sped away from the scene of the crime.


	2. Substance Abuse

_I'm sorry that I'm so into drugs right now...not literally, of course! In a mental sense, I mean. If you happened to read my one-shot Go Ask Alice, you'll notice a lot of similarities between this and that. Why? I dunno._

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**__****substance abuse.  
_The overindulgence in, and dependence of, a drug or other chemical leading to effects that are harmful to the individual's physical and mental health, or the welfare of others._**

It's a known fact. When you don't have something, you want it. Jealousy is very, very common among people these days. They all want things they don't have—things they _can't _have.

And as a cold, lifeless, pale, dead darkness (A pale darkness? Hn. Contradictory), Bakura wanted warmth. He wanted light. He wanted color. He wanted _life._

Malik had all of these things. Malik just wanted a thrill.

"You sure we can trust those guys?" The ghost growled at his companion as the pair stalked out of a shady alleyway. He was quite obviously referring to the dark-hooded men that had given them all of the substances that were now stuffed into the various pockets of his partner's black cargo pants. Said partner rolls his eyes.

"You're paranoid. I trust all of my Ghouls completely."

Bakura frowned. "You'd be paranoid, too, if you've lived through all that I have. Human beings in general shouldn't be trusted."

"I trust plenty of people. Hell, I even trust _you_… to a certain extent, anyway."

"I'm not human, you fool."

"Oh, right," Malik's eyes drop, and he stares at the cement in a melancholic fashion—but only for a second. Blink at you would've missed it. Bakura didn't miss it. "Well, come on. We should get back." He jerks his head towards his motorcycle that was neatly parked in a uniform fashion (something that _rarely_ happens to Malik's motorcycle, mind you) and the pale form nodded.

"I hate that thing, you know." The Spirit pointed out as he situated himself behind Malik and wrapped his arms around the tan boy's waist.

"Suck it up." Were Malik's final words on the subject before taking off.

After a few minutes of the Egyptian's careful driving through Domino City (he had decided that he must drive safely in order to not cause any attention to himself, for he could be a _very_ reckless driver when he wished to do so), they reached the abandoned building that now served for a makeshift asylum.

"Alright," The pallid spirit growled as his partner messily parked the bike in a dark alley. The pair seems to spend an _awfully _large amount of time in these sorts of shadowy areas, no? They removed themselves from the vehicle and strolled towards the edifice. "Let's get this over with."

The blonde chuckled and shook his head at the Spirit. "You make it sound so torturous. It's supposed to be _fun_."

"Yes, because I can think of nothing more fun than jabbing a needle into my arm and stumbling around for hours," Malik approached the spirit, and peels the light blue jacket away from his phantom-esque form. "Just do it, please."

"If it's so godforsakeningly _awful_, then don't do it." He tells his partner, yet continues to use a strip of cloth to tie off the pale arm, searching for a vein.

"Shut up." Was the final statement, before a needle was slipped into his flesh and his mind clouded over and his thoughts scattered.

And then, Bakura felt warm.


End file.
